


Always has been 1880

by Najil_sherlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, F/M, Immortal Sherlock, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Najil_sherlocked/pseuds/Najil_sherlocked
Summary: “You weren’t supposed to see that,” says Sherlock while placing his hands on his hips as his face slides off to something guarded. He looks towards the door, grasping for a distraction. “I am thinking we can go down town, maybe eat some-''“Sherlock!” his voice cracks through the air, sharp and frayed at the ends, and Sherlocks eyes snap to him instantly. It has been some time since he has seen him this angry. He knew he couldn't keep his best friend out of this, he hoped he would have some more time, to think of a proper solution or excuse but faith seemed to have other plans...





	1. Chapter 1

~ 2017 ~  
1\. Long time secrets

“What the hell is this?” Scott’s voice is tight and steady but the photo in his hand trembles as he holds it out towards Sherlock. He is sitting on the edge of Sherlock’s bed.   
William blinks and shifts, his eyes are darting from the stormy blue of Scott’s stare to the photo on the wall behind him.   
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” says Sherlock while placing his hands on his hips as his face slides off to something guarded. He looks towards the door, grasping for a distraction. “I am thinking we can go down town, maybe eat some-''  
“Sherlock!” his voice cracks through the air, sharp and frayed at the ends, and Sherlocks eyes snap to him instantly. It has been some time since he has seen him this angry. He knew he couldn't keep his best friend out of this, he hoped he would have some more time, to think of a proper solution or excuse but faith seemed to have other plans.  
Scott stands up from the bed now. " William Sherlock Scott Holmes-'' He was using his full name now, bit not good.  
''We are friends! We aren't supposed to have secrets for each other, now tell me what the bloody hell is going on!''  
'' Not until you calm down, your blood is clearly already pumping and I don't want to be the cause of your heart attack since you already got a poor diet, bad condition and a bit off stress going on at work-''   
''Poor diet? bad condition? What the hell Sherlock! I'm perfectly fine you are just looking for an excuse to change the subject!'' Scott exclamed.  
Sherlock closes his eyes, not wanting to open them.   
''Look, Sherlock . I'm your best friend, we have known eachother for over 10 bloody years now and whatever you are about to say won't change any of that. I just need to know how it is possible that you are in the same picture as my great grand dad''.   
Sherlock sighs and closes his eyes a second longer to sort his thoughts. His head bows and his hand rubs against the back of his neck. There is nothing for it but the truth now. But how can he bring it without losing his only friend.  
“I am…” Sherlock lifts his eyes to Scott briefly, then slides them away, feeling the sting of the open hurt and disappointment in their depths. “It was not my intention to keep this from you forever but… it is… complex.” He strides over to the wall that has photograph and looks at it for a second, not having the courage to turn around and face his friend.  
Scott stares from a distant yet again at the picture on the wall. How? How is it possible? Okay, think. There must be a logical reason for all of this but if that was the case, why would his friend have such a hard time in telling him this?  
Sherlock let his gaze wander for a short time to his compagnion but then quickly faces back to the wall. He stares, stares at the photograph. He knows every smallest detail of that photo. He has spent many an hour gazing at it. He knows his own face is smooth and impassive as always, eyes a practised blank. He is seated with his legs crossed in fine Victorian attire, but it is the man stood behind him that Sherlock’s eyes are inevitably drawn to. John. His old compagnion, his old friend and who turns out to be Scotts great grand father, shit, he never thought the universe would be that lazy.  
'' It's you... in the picture. Sherlock how is this possible? talk to me for peets sake!''  
Sherlock snaps out of his own thoughts and turns back to Scott. Seeing the confused look on his face there is no other way but telling the truth.  
'' It is indeed me, you are seeing in the picture and the man behind me is your great grand father. The photograph is authentic Victorian era, it was made in 1884''.  
Scott sits down again with a thump that gives the impression it was not quite voluntary. “No… but… that’s impossible.”  
Sherlock runs restless fingers through his hair, anxiety tickling at his insides. “One would assume that to be so, yet, that would be denying the evidence right before your eyes. So, importable, yes but, it seems, not impossible.”  
'' But... that would make you, how old?''   
'' 167'' Sherlock sad with a cold voice.  
''But... god I need a moment''. Scott said while standing up and walking into the kitchen looking for his coffee mug. So his friend was what? immortal? he heard the familiar footsteps of his friend behind him.  
''Scott?''   
"hmh?''  
"I realise now that you may be upset about-''  
"UPSET?'' Scott exclaimed, letting out a small annoyed laugh. "why would I be upset?! My best friend whom I tell EVERYTHING kept such a huge secret for me. Why on mother earth would I be upset!'' he exclamed once more.  
''Look, I never found it relevant to tell you about-''  
"No. No, you see- no stop right there you don't get to do this, this time. You don't get to play the victem and make up some story about how it wasn't relevant to tell me!'' Scott walked out of the kitchen completely forgotten about his coffe mug and let him self fall into the nearest chair. Taking some deep breaths.  
"God... it's just... I'm sorry Sherlock I didn't ment to be rude or- or upset you by screaming at you it's just...''  
Sherlock let out a little laugh. '' Don't be an idiot Scott it will take a lot more to upset or hurt me'' he said with a grin across his face.  
Scott looked at his friend and couldn't help but do the same.  
''So... immortal then?''  
"Yup''.  
"Extrodinairy''.  
Sherlock rappedly blinks at Scott's words. The only other person who ever told that he was such a thing is John...  
"you- you think so?''  
"Yes, ofcourse I do. It's not like I meet an immortal every day."  
Sherlock huffs at this but can't help but feel quit flattered and happy.   
"And you were friends with my great grand father, how did that happen?'' scott said while Sherlock was taking place in the chair opposite from himself.  
"Well scott my dear fellow, that is rather a long story.''  
''I've got all day'' Scott said crossing his legs and making himself comfortable in his chair.  
"Like I said, my dear friend, it's a rather long story and you may not like the things you will hear about me. I haven't always been the man that I am on this day. We all have a past that haunts us on our every sunny day and I don't want your emotion to cloud your judgement.''  
''Sherlock, like I said before, there is nothing that could change our friendship. You are my best friend and nothing can change that.'' Scott said while shifting forward in his chair trying to comfort his friend with his words. Sherlock exhaled and looked him in the eyes before looking out of the window thinking about a world long past time.  
''Okay, let's start from the beginning then''.


	2. Wounded soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "John".  
> "What?" the stranger says while looking at me in disbelieve.  
> "I'm John Watson''.  
> His eyes widen and he looks at me like i've gone mad.  
> "You think this is the time and place to exchange names?!'' He tried not to shout.  
> "Why not have some nice biscuits and tea while we are on it!''  
> "That sounds good to me dear fellow''. I say with a fond smile.  
> He looks at me in astonisment but then burst out into a giggle.  
> "Dear John I think we will get along just fine'' he said with a grin on his face.  
> "The name is Sherlock Holmes''  
> "Well Sherlock let's get the hell out of this place".

~1880~

Pov Sherlock  
Sometimes you need to take a step back, to take one forward. But those words of reassurance mean nothing in times of war. Every miss step could mean your dead. And so, the sun blazes down on the Afghan sand, yet even in the 37 degrees I can feel the cold sand grow darker beneath me. Here in the second Afghan war I lay with nothing but dead surrounding me and bullets passing me by ever so quickly. My hair quickly becomes matted with blood, sticking to my skin in discomferd. I can feel the ache of pain all over my body and I know I'm running out of time and I feel myself slowly slip into unconsiousness. By this thought I get overloaded with a sence of peace. Die a hero. No more pain. No more fighting, knowing I can finally rest.  
I should have known life is rarely so kind.  
"HEY!'' I hear shouting from the distant. It can't be for me. Who would save me? I'm sure my fellow soldiers have flight by now, by dear god why won't they let me rest.  
"Hey!'' a soldier said as he slips down next to me '' are you alright?''  
I look up to the man staring at my bullet wound in my leg and can't help but wonder if I'm already dead or still alive.

Pov John  
Sore feet thudded heavily on the sand as John ran, kicking up clouds of fine sand behind him. ''For god sake I should have never signed up for this mess'' he muttered to himself as he ran away from the bullet rain. He should have never thought he could go out on his own, leaving his compagnions, his fellow soldiers behind. But his studborn brain had other plans for him. now here you are he thought by himself. You got yourself in this bloody mess and-. What is that? Just 30 feet infront of him he sees a man in his mid twenties lying on the ground.  
"HEY" John shouts. No response.  
Is he dead? No, as far as he can tell he is still moving. John jumps forward to the soldier laying on the ground and with a thump he let him self fall beside him.  
"Hey!'' the man doesn't respond it looks like he is slipping into unconsiousness.  
"Are you alright?'' the man doesn't seem to be able to speak but his eyes are more aware now.  
John stared at the bullet wound on the man's right leg for a minute before leaning over the soldier and carefully peeling away the shredded fabric from around the bullet entry wound.  
''God..." John said as he focussed on the bullet wound in disgust.  
Right now the bullet is the cork in the bottle and is stopping most of the blood flow. He shreds a piece of his soldier uniform off and adds preasure on the bullet wound.

Pov Sherlock  
As I look up at the unknown man leaning over my wounded body I feel myself questioning who this bewildered stranger might be. While my mind wonders off to the man in question I can not help to notice that my wounded leg was already healed by a great amount. Even the man who was treating them let out a cry when he removed the cloth he had pressed on my leg and saw that the bullet wound had vanished.  
"In the name of the lord what is this!'' the stranger shrieks.  
I can't help but say that I am rather astonished myself about the event. I can already feel my strenght regaining and before I know it I'm now standing on my feet looking down upon the strange man who tried to safe my life. My mind starts their deductions. Short blond sandy hair wich points out he's from the millitairy, obviously, why else would he be here? Bags under his eyes say lack of sleep and problems with his familie. There is also something else in those stormy blue eyes... what is it? Oh shock that's right...

Pov John  
In heavens name! This man was on the edge of dying and now there he is, standing up like nothing has happend!  
"How in the world are you-''  
"SHH'' he bends down and quickly covers my mouth with his literally bloody hands!  
"Don't you make a sound my man, we are still in the terrene of the enemy'' he says ever so silently.  
I'm baffled by the man and can't help but wonder who this fellow is and how in lords name he is still alive and well.  
"You look rather baffled I percieve'' says the once wounded soldier.  
"Well my friend it is a rahter correct way to react when you see a walking dead man!'' I shriek.  
"Dead man? nonsense! Don't be an idiot''. he says while waving his hand in the dusty air.  
"How-'' I tried to speak but I was once more cut off by the man.  
"You better shut your mouth if we don't want to be pierced by the enemies bullets my man!'' he almost whispered while checking his surroundings.  
"Right, but do not think we are done with this'' I point my finger up and down the mans body and stand up to make myself ready for yet another run.  
"My friend, I don't even know what is going on myself, but surely we will pursue this conversation once we are on safe grounds!'' he almost hissed.  
I hastly check the fields around us scanning for a safe way out of this blood bath while suddenly something pops up my mind.  
"John".  
"What?" the stranger says while looking at me in disbelieve.  
"I'm John Watson''.  
His eyes widen and he looks at me like i've gone mad.  
"You think this is the time and place to exchange names?!'' He tried not to shout.  
"Why not have some nice biscuits and tea while we are on it!''  
"That sounds good to me dear fellow''. I say with a fond smile.  
He looks at me in astonisment but then burst out into a giggle.  
"Dear John I think we will get along just fine'' he said with a grin on his face.  
"The name is Sherlock Holmes''  
"Well Sherlock let's get the hell out of this place".

It is a foggy, cloudy morning, and a dun-coloured veil hangs over the blooded battle field as we try to find a way back to the millitairy base. My companion on the other hand is in the best of spirits, and has a fond smile wiped across his face.  
"My dear Sherlock'' I said painting, and out off breath. "Why in heavens name aren't you cross about the beblooded field around us? You look like a child in a candy store!''  
"Oh John, my friend'' he said grinning while jumping over yet another corps we passed by running. "I'm hardly glad about that, don't be dull!'' he exclaimed as he gave me a glaring look. '' Can't a man be happy he made it out off the battle field alive?''  
"Alive? Well that's still to question! we are still on enemies terrene Holmes!''  
Sherlock let out a sigh while making his way past a hole in the ground. I can say that I am rather amazed at the calm way in wich he rippled.  
As we ran under the desert sun I can see the millitairy base appearing from the distant. As I look next to me I see the extrodinairy man who survived a bullet wound like it had just been a scratch! And I can't help but wonder if after this all our paths will cross again. Because I have to say I am rather in the unkown about this man.

Pov sherlock  
When I glance next to me I can see John looking at me like he is trying to solve a puzzle. I have to say, I am rather puzzled myself but I won't let this show. Otherwise people may stard asking quistions.  
"Could you please stop staring at me like im some sort of enigma!'' I hiss in his direction.  
"Right. I am sorry Holmes''. John said rather let down.  
"Sigh'' I let out a huff and look my companion in the eye for a second. ''Fine you got questions. But before I anwser them I should tell you I am rather in the unknown myself and that I don't answer to idiotic or boring questions. Now shoot'' I say while walking over the base while John is trying to keep up with my long pace.  
"Are you some sort of wizard Holmes?"  
"What did I tell you about Idiotic-''  
"Right, Right. Sorry...'' he glances of into the distant before scanning me once again with his eyes.  
"You have some sort of special ability?''  
''That seems to be the case'' I say coldly as I stride pass the other soldiers.  
"Extrodinairy!'' he exclaimed happly.  
Sherlock rappedly blinks at John's words. His brain, stuck. People normally don't talk to him for this long let stand alone compliment him.  
''You- you think so?''  
"Yes, ofcourse! It is not like I meet a man like you every day''.  
"That would seem so''. I said with a grin on my face. "Still. I don't understand how it is even possible that I healed in such a short time. I gues sometimes the world remains an impenetrable mystery. But before this, to me, it was like an open book. This event that happend to me today goes in stride with the hard logic, I once found to depent on''. I say while I glance sadly to the sky above me. I never believed in stories about fairy tales, wizards or the power of believe. But now the evidence of it is right in front of me. or rather attached to me.  
And now next to me, a man I hardly, know anything of. Found it in himself to accept me. I never had a friend, I never found it relevant to have any friends. It brings out to many emotions, attachements wich I am not keen of. But, maybe, for once I could let someone in.  
"Well my fellow, whatever this mystery is I would he honored to solve it with you''. He says as we stand still. Why are we standing still? I check my surroundings. Ah... this must be his tent.  
"I don't think I got much choice do I?'' I ask with a smirk on my face.  
"I believe you haven't" He answers with a grin.  
"I will see you around'' he says as he salutes me and retires into his tent.  
I let out a breath and take a moment to look at my leg. It is still covered in my own blood and I can see some soldiers staring at me. But I couldn't care less about that. the only thing that is on my mind right now is how I am going to continue with the information is just found out of. I take in another breath and straighten my back. Soldier on. Mind off. Time to hand in a report about the failed mission of today.

Pov John, few hours later  
As I wake up and hear some vague screams from outside of my tent I can't help to wonder what in hell is going on. I look upon my pocket watch and see it is still to early. I pick up my revolver and make my way out of my tent carefully. What I see next makes me horrified. The enemy has ambushed us in our sleep and all I can see are wounded soldiers who let out cries of pain and raging fires. I make my way over to one trying to help. But I do not succeed as the soldier dies in my arms. I pick up my revolver once more and make my way to the closest hiding place not wanting to have the same faith as the poor fellow. Next to me there comes another bloke. He is in his early twenties maybe even younger, I can't tell. I look at his face and can't help to notice that it is white as dead, and the fear in his eyes will haunt me forever.  
"Are you okay mate?'' I state to him as I gently place my hand on his shoulder to calm his nerves.  
"No, sir I-''  
"PANG"  
I look in disbelieve at the scene infront of my eyes as the fellow drops dead infront of me. I feel disgusted at the blood and try to face away not knowing what to do next.  
"HEY MATE!" I look behind me and see some of my fellow soldiers making their way out of the camp. The one who called me waves his hand for me to follow along. I quickly stand up and run as fast as I can. Once I'm with my fellow soldiers I can't help but notice that we are clearly outnumberd and we do not stand a chance against the enemy.  
"We have to get out of here!" one of them states.  
"But what about the other soldiers?" I ask while my mind drifts of to my new friend, sherlock.  
"No use they should be all dead by now" Another one says with a sad voice.  
I can't help but think the same, there is no way that someone would survive this ambush. And since we were still on what is now enemies grounds we have to think fast and move on. As we make our way into the Afghan desert I take one last look back and say my apologies for the ones we have to leave behind, including my friend.


	3. Raging fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock Holmes was not stupid.  
> Quite the opposite, actually, but that's besides the point. He wouldn't deny the existence of love, friendship or sentiment, as he called it- but he was proud to announce that “that particularly appalling parasite of frivolous emotional attachment” did not have its grip on him. He regarded sentiment as a waste of perfectly good minds, addling the brain of its hosts and hindering all that was good in the world. It was a plague, an animalistic desire tearing down humanity for the sheer purpose of- of nothing, really. It was just a disease. Atleast that is what he used to think. but now. now he is not so sure while he lies on his feather mattres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you guys are interested in the story leave kudos and comments for more posts ^^ i almost finished the whole story and putting it up bit by bit

~1881~

Sherlock Holmes was not stupid.  
Quite the opposite, actually, but that's besides the point. He wouldn't deny the existence of love, friendship or sentiment, as he called it- but he was proud to announce that “that particularly appalling parasite of frivolous emotional attachment” did not have its grip on him. He regarded sentiment as a waste of perfectly good minds, addling the brain of its hosts and hindering all that was good in the world. It was a plague, an animalistic desire tearing down humanity for the sheer purpose of- of nothing, really. It was just a disease. Atleast that is what he used to think. but now. now he is not so sure while he lies on his feather mattres. It has been one year since the ambush in Afghanistan. He can still remember it to the smallest detail. it was late in the night as he first heard it. The screams of his fellow soldiers. Sherlock shudders at the thought of it as he lets his mind once again wonder off to that faithfull night in 1880.  
Sherlock was breathing ashes. The very air felt singed and reeked of burning; the raw, brutal stench of bombing, the irritation caused by the powdered rubble of disintegrating masonry was nothing compared to the thick, cold smoke of continuing fire. The base camp was by now a towering inferno and, despite the heavy units and all the soldiers, soon there would be nothing left to save; the rapidly spreading flames were winning the unequal battle. He picked up his gun and went running away from the spreading fires. Shooting the enemies that came across his path. He'd been so wrapped up in his task that he'd not paid attention to the other soldiers and found out soon that he was almost the only one left. He tried to think of an escape plan when suddenly a face popped up in his mind. John. Sherlock did what he tought was right and tried to sneak to John's tent without getting shot or bombed. Once he got there, there was nothing left. everything was destroyed in the rage of fire.   
Maybe he made it out alive? No. Don't be such an idiot miracles like that do not exist. This is what you get for letting yourself open for sentiment. I should have never made friends with the man because all I feel now is hurt. as I feel the tears prickle in my eyes I feel a flash of pain going through my chest and before I know it I am laying on the ground.   
''Arrgh!'' I let out a cry of pain as I feel the bullet wound that was formed in my chest. Slowly but surely I can feel darkness overtake me.

The first thing that I remember after that. Is that I woke up almost completely fine. I couldn't say the same for the other soldiers laying dead on the ground. As I try to stand I can feel my body weaken once more and I fall down on the desert ground. I had not gained my full strenght again yet, bit not good. The enemy could still be around here. I let out a sigh and take a look around me. My eyes wonder off to what once was john's tent now, nothing more but ashes. And then I see a glimmer appearing from the pile of ash. I drag myself to the pile and go through it with my hand. Bloody hell. The glimmer is John's dog tags. So I am right about if after all. Miracles do not exist in the real world... God this is not the time to mourn about it dammit! I am still on enemy terrene. I try to wiggle my legs a bit hoping to fasten the healing process.

Once I was able to stand up I made my way out of the ruined base as quickly as I could. After wandering in the desert for what seemed like days I came to a village where they offerd me food and a place to rest. But my heart longed for home, for London. So after many attemps to get in touch with the british army I was able to return to Londen after 4 months. Once I was back home I had no other choice but to move in with my half sister for a while since London on an ex army pension wasn't quit affordable. Well for a while, after 8 months I'm still in this god forsaken place of hers with all of her 4 screaming kids to count in for, a husband who clearly has an affair with the woman next door wich my Incomprehensible sister is still trying to deny. And ofcourse a cat who isn't even capable of catching a single mouse. It's tedious to say the least.   
I take a deep breath as I let myself roll of my matres and try to do something productive today. I still got alot of questions about my, as Richard called them ''abilities''. As I stand up and take a look at myself in the mirror I can't help to see that I still look as young as I did around 5 years ago. By most man around my age you can start to see the aging, the gray hairs, the wrinkles making ways across their faces but nothing of that seems to count for me, amazing, I think to myself as I put it on the back of my mind. I make my way downstairs and take a quick glance at the screaming childeren at the table. 8 months and I still couldn't find myself to learn their names. Unnecessary information. I stride by them and make my way out into the cool London air. I can feel the air thickle my skin and as I wrap my scarf around my neck I stard pacing down the street. My eyes looking for something worth my time.  
As I sit down after a long boring walk I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. When I open my eyes there are still the same old boring streets like always and I sigh.  
"Nothing will ever happen to me'' I mutter to myself as I put my hands in my victorian attire. I let my mind wonder of looking for a distraction off this dull life. His mind came to set on his old friend or better to say dead friend, John. Because let's be honest there is no possibility he survived the ambush. I can't help but be annoyed by my thougths. I smack my head trying to change the subject but it doesn't works. I sigh and stand up. I wish I would have never attended the british army this friendship has made me weak. At that point I stand up and make myself ready to once more stride through the streets of London.


	4. Dark souls and new beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "HOLMES!"  
> Nothing. Not a flinch.  
> "SHERLOCK!" I shout again.  
> At this moment I see the man turning around with a confused look on his face. God... it really is him! The bastard did made it out alive after all! I keep running towards him and once I reach the man I take him into a propor embrace.

~1881~

After the ambush in Afghan I returned to Londen with my spirits down and my future bleak. Now one year later I still find it hard to look back at the events that found, place that one dreadfull night. The paining screams of my fellow soldiers, the look in their eyes as they meet their dead. More and more people are starting to doubt about the concept of hell. Thinking it is a myth but believe me when I say, that I have seen it that night. Still, I wake up in the midnights screaming and sweating somethimes still hearing the sound of the bombs, the raging sound of a gun, shooting down my men. I can't help but let out a sob every now and then. The things I have seen will haunt me forever.   
The thing that pains me the most how ever is the lost of my new friend, Sherlock Holmes. This man was nothing like anyone I have ever met. His icy blue eyes, wich seems to change colour from now and then, his perfectly dark brown curls like a waterfall falling from down his face. It pains me, knowing I will not get a chance to get to know this man better.  
Oh, if you could just see how bad I am doing right now. All the lost, the pain. I wish I had never joined the army because now, in a world turned upside down and order disapeared. Nothing is how it is supposed to be, and a heavy sadness fills my soul. I fall deeper and deeper withing myself. And it feels like nothing can show me out. Not the cool Londen air nor the laughter of my friends and family once they found out I made it out alive. It feels like it is always nighttime and nightmares and never morning. And mostly you try not to think about it and try to get by. And all the other things seems like nothing compared to just wanting the most important things back again. My old life, my careless soul, my clean Conscience and my friend. I go to many, therapy sesions. And by now I have heard pleanty of promises and they all sound the same. Life will go on, It will get better, John. But push hard enough and sooner or later they all turn out to be empty. I do not want the world to be pulled out from me but the same time I lack the energy to move on. I feel like I am in the dark and I will be trapped here forever. But still I hope for a beam of light that can break the darkness and make me feel myself again. Unfortunately such miracles do not exist. So I have to stay strong and soldier on.

After John got up after again a sleepless night full off nightmares and screaming he wanderd around his little apartment looking for a purpose to get out of the house. When he saw he was out of milk he took a deep sigh and got his coat wich he lazely had trown on the floor the night before. He walked down the stairs and opened the door wich let to the outside world. It was raining, which wasn’t unusual for London. Not at all. The water fell around John, splattering in large droplets against the darkened pavement, running in rivers along the street curbs. Running a pinkish hue just by…  
Richard squeezed his eyes shut, cowering into the protection of the door opening, turning away and clutching at the lapels of the too long coat that hugged around his shoulders. He should get a coat that fits, but what is the use if the summer is almost near he thought to himself. As John opened his eyes once more he saw something strange man wandering around the cornor on the other side of the street. It can not be. Can it? The man looks an afwul lot like... John cleared his throat, dipping his chin down to his chest in an attempt to breathe, to not breathe, to anything. He let out long breaths through his nose, only barely sucking them in again. He shook his head, no. No, there is no one. He didn’t open his eyes. He is dead. Not only Sherlock, but everyone. All his soldier friends, dead. And he did nothing to help them. He ran away like the cowerd he is...  
Tears are rolling down Johns cheecks as he closes the front door and makes his way up the stairs once more... when he enters the common room he let himself fall down on the floor placing his face in his cold hands and lets out a sob. As the tears are filling up his hands he looks up and let his eyes wander to his bedroom door. He doesn't hesitate and gets up taking four long strides before reaching the bedroom door. As he enters the room he goes directly to the drawer besides his bed and opens it hastly. There in his old wooden drawer lays his revolver. He takes it in his hands as he looks at it closely. So many man he killed with this... so many friends he could have saved with it. He let himself fall on his bed and looks up at the celling. He takes a deep sigh. When does the path we walk on lock around our feet? When does the road become a river with only one destination? Dead waits for us all in the end. And sooner or later we all have to face its beauty and horror. He clenches the gun in his hand. Where did this all go wrong? He rolls over to his side and looks out of the window. The rain tickling down the glass wich forms a Reassuring sound. Once more he lays his eyes on the gun in his hand. He can't do this. This life that was given to him, he can not waste it. My soldier friends. Who died for me, with their dead the have put a value on my life. One I do not know how to repay. But dead is not the answer. So I carefully put the revolver back into the drawer with a long holding sigh. As I look out of my bedroom window I see the rain has stopped. I can't help but let a out a little laugh. And as I straighten my back and walk back to the common room I can't help but wonder that maybe this will be a new beginning for me.  
I stride down the stairs to stand, once again in the opening of the door. I take a deep breath and make my way into the cool London air. Around me I see the world moving on, as always. I remind myself that I don't need to forget the milk. But just when I want to make my way to the market I feel drawn. Drawn to the other direction. I do not know why or how, but I feel like faith has something planned down for me. So I make my way down town, into the other direction. While I walk down the streets I have no idea where I am going. I never go to this part of London. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. I should have just done my groceries and gone back to my apartment.   
I was about to head back when I saw it again. The man I saw earlier that made me almost lose my mind. I swear to god when I say that he looks exactly like Holmes. I take a closer and closer look at the man walking through the parc and I let out a gasp. It really is him! But it can't be! Did he made it out alive after all? I take a few steps forward into his direction. I can not believe my own eyes! Okay Watson. Breath. This can all be a dream. You will get ya self worked up and before you know it you will be let down. I take another deep breath and let my eyes wander once again to the man who is now almost to far away to notice. But- but what if... It really is him? Screw my thoughts! I think to myself as I set in for a run. I have never ran this fast. Not since the day I met Holmes wounded on the ground. It is nice to feel the cool breeze on my face. And making ways through my hair as I am running.  
"HOLMES!"  
Nothing. Not a flinch.  
"SHERLOCK!" I shout again.  
At this moment I see the man turning around with a confused look on his face. God... it really is him! The bastard did made it out alive after all! I keep running towards him and once I reach the man I take him into a propor embrace.  
"Bloody hell Sherlock!'' I exclame happily '' How did you made it out-''   
As I try to finish my sentence I can see the shocked look on his face.  
"Sherlock are you okay?'' I say as I snap my fingers infront of his face, trying to get a reaction out of him.  
Sherlock looks me in the eyes now and blinks rappedly. It looks like he can not wrap his brain around what just happend. I have to say it is really a funny sight.  
"Y- You are... alive? He said stumbling over his words.  
I take a quick glance down my own body and look up to Sherlock with a grin on my face.  
"It seems like it''  
Sherlock let's out a huff.  
''I can not believe this. I saw no other survivors and that you made it out alive? Such miracles do not exist dear John'' he said with a puzzled look on his face.  
"But they do'' I say with a smile on my face "They do my friend and we both are the living proof of that!'' I exclame.  
I can now see a smile lighting up his features.  
"Perhaps your right John, perhaps.'' He says with a cheecky smile.  
I take a few moments to take the scene infront of me in.  
"So'' I say. "How in the bloody hell did you make it out alive?''  
"I could ask you the same'' he says with his baronette voice.  
"I left with some troops when we noticed that there was no way of saving the place... god if I had known you were still alive I would have-''  
"It is okay John. What happend, happend.'' he says in a cold voice  
"Right." I say, bit let down by his tone. "So how did you make it out of there?  
"I still am in doubt of that myself, my friend''. He says as he stares of into the distants.  
I reply with a hum.  
My compagnion's features broaded into a grin ''But I am more than ready to find out. Like you said in Afghan my dear Watson. You would love to help me figure out how I survived that bullet wound. I should let you know the same happend to me at the ambush. I got shot. In the chest non the less. I was in no means to survive such wound. But I did. The next morning I woke up with my health completely in tact. The bullet wound again, Disappeared.''  
"That is unbelievable! Absolutely amazing''.  
My friend flushes up with pleasure of my words, knowing now, that he is very sensitive to flattery like a woman of her Appearance.  
"Well Watson, what keeps you busy these days?'' He asked changing the subject. Probably not knowing more of it and in doubt to get it wrong.  
"Not much really. I have got a little apartment just outside off London. Haven't really done much since Afghan. I am still trying to get back on my feet.''  
"As I expected" Sherlock said.  
"I am sorry?" I say confused.  
"Oh, sorry it is an easy assumption, going by the state you hold your self. You lean back on your right leg wich tells me you are at unease about something. Going by your millitairy background I would assume that it is about the ambush. I can read the quilt all over your face what tells me you are feeling ashemed you left your fellow soldiers behind that one afwull night. You do not think you deserve happieness because of it. So you do not take the time to take good care off yourself. Your coat is way to big for you what tells me it is probably used to belong to a relative. Who gave it to you out of concern. Because you yourself take little or non care of yourself. You got yourself a cheap little apartment outside of London because even know, you could go for a flatshare and get one in the centrum, you do not feel necessary for a compagnion because you are still haunted by nightmares of the war, stating by the bags underneath your eyes wich suggest little sleep. So what can I state out of all of this? You are still trying to get back on your feet and trying to move on from the war'' he stated.  
I stand infront of him quit baffled about what I just heard coming out of his mouth but I can not help but let out a laugh.  
"Your absolutly right''  
"I know'' he says.  
I start to giggle and Sherlock joins me.  
"That is the Sherlock I know'' I say  
"You have known me for approximately 2 days. It would be Scientific impossible'' Sherlock states.  
''It is not like you didn't miss me to, you git'' I say smiling.  
I can see a smile lighting up his features.  
"Maybe'' he says.  
"So what about you, dear Holmes?''  
"Im sorry?'' he says with a puzzled look.  
"What keeps you going these days idiot'' I say playfull.  
"Oh right'' he says looking away from me ''not much really. I live with my sister and her afwull excuse of a husband and devil childeren. Still looking for a job but for the rest, nothing special really.  
I reply with a aproving hum.  
"So why not looking for a flat of your own?" I ask.  
"I tried. But as you know finding an apartment on an army pension isn't that easy. And a flatshare? Each and every single person I met who were looking for one just seemed to dull and annoying.''  
''But what abou-''  
"An apartment out of London? No thank you. I like to be in the middle of it all, of the people. Being able to breath in the London air. It is my way of keeping control of the situation.'' he says looking back at me now.  
''Right. What about me?'' I remark.  
"You? You would want to look at apartments with... me?''  
"Yeah sure, why not? I mean it is time for me to move on from the war and sharing a place with a friend can not be all that bad, can it?'' I say with a fond smile crossing my lips.  
''Oh Watson, you have got no idea what your in for. I am a horrible flatmate'' he says waving his hands in the air.  
"I am sure you can not be that bad. Besides, I do not think anyone else would like to share a flat with a traumetized soldier either'' I say with a little disappointment in my voice.  
"Alright then. I must say I have had my eye on a nice comfy apartment in centre of London for a while now. I think togheter we will be able to afford it.''  
"Great!'' I exclame happily "It is about time I get out of that bad escuse of a place I call a home. I gues it is time for a new beginning"  
"I think you might be right John'' He states with a smile on his face "I think you might just be right'' he mummbles into himself.  
As I take my pocket watch out of my to big coat I see it is already time for supper.   
"Well look at the time'' I say as I put it back into my pocket. "I think it is time for me to go back to my apartment''  
"Same counts for me. But in my case a hell hole'' he says while rolling his eyes at the last words. I can not help but let out a laugh.  
"Right'' I state and make my way back to my dark and lonely apartment. I look over my shoulder one last time and put my hand in the air to salute Holmes a goodbye.

We met the next day again and went to take a look at the apartment. It looked nice from the outside, it was placed above a café owned by the landlady ms Hudsons. The apartment consisted of 2 comfortable bedrooms and a large cheery sitting-room wich was fully furnished. That very night I went back to my old apartment and got my things and the following moring Sherlock followed with several boxes wich were packed with his belongings. For approximately 2 days we were busy unpacking and laying out stuff for the best Décor. When all of that was done we began settling down and accommodate ourselves to our new home.  
The first few weeks went by without any fuss going on. Sherlock was very busy looking for a job when finally,scotland yard offered him a job because apperantly, my dear flatmate Sherlock Holmes likes to solve murders in his free time, something the police got a hold off and were now offering him a job as a detective, wich he at first rejected. After some talk of the detective in lead, a fellow called Lestrade, he said he would like to be a consolting detective and not just a normal detective or as he stated it: BORING. I myself can not yet see myself addapting to a new job because I am still getting to terms with my nightmares and night terrors about the war. I spent my days reading books and at some point I got bored. I thought back to when Sherlock was shot and survived all of it. We still had not figured out how it was possible that he was still alive. And that to say, I did not really thought about it again till now. So my curiosity took the better of me one night whilst sitting by the fire place. Me reading a book and brooks smoking his pipe.  
"Sherlock. Maybe it is time we discussed the fact that you, even though you got shot. TWICE in this case. That you are still alive!'' I point out.  
Sherlock blows out the smoke like a fire breathing dragon. "I myself, my dear friend. Have given it some thoughts and placed the facts on one line.'' He takes another inhale of his pipe and blows it out with all the ease in the world '' and I might think that I am Incapable of dying'' Sherlock says as he stares coldy into the raging flames.  
"Incapable of dying? But that must make you a-''  
"NO, no John! No wizards do not be so dull and stupid!" he exclamed.  
"I was not going to say that-'' I try to reason  
"Yes you were!" he says while standing up and making his way to the kitchen. Probably to make himself a cuppa.  
I take a deep sigh "Okay, maybe yeah'' I almost mummble to myself.  
"Told you" he almost screams out of the kitchen.  
"Oi! There is no way in hell you heard what I just said!'' I exclame almost offended.  
"Well I did hear it so you better keep it to yourself if you do not want things to be heard'' he says while walking back to his chair with a cup of tea in his hand and his pipe in the other.  
I take out an annoying huff and let the silence take over the room once more. As I clear my throath I try to break the silence once more.  
"Maybe you are immortal'' I try to bring to him.  
Sherlock looks up to from behind his cuppa tea.  
"Maybe" he says as he shrugs his shoulders.  
"Maybe? It is the only other possible reason besides being a-''  
Sherlock gives me a stern glare as he knows the words I am about to say.  
"Wizard" I let out  
He takes a sigh  
"Fine immortal then'' he says and puts down his half empty cup.  
"The things you can do are huge! Do you get that Sherlock? You could help people, alot! Being immortal is not something that happens to everyone on a daily bases'' I say  
"Uhg, helping people. Dull.'' he says as he lets himself sink into his chair, staring at the celling.  
"Dull? you work for the police for god sake Sherlock! You help people on a daily bases!'' I state.  
"I consult the police John! I am not one of them. I purely stay for the murder cases, it is the only interresting thing going on at yard'' he says with a bored voice.  
"Fine then'' I sigh. "I still think you should do something with it"I mummble.  
"Hmhh" is the only sound that now leaves his lips.  
I take a deep breath as I put down my book and make my way to my room. There is no use in discussing this with him anyway. He is way to stubborn for that. I let a small laugh cross my lips. That is just Sherlock being Sherlock.


End file.
